Page 71 of Pretty Little Threats

The way he pinned me down and made me come.

The way he gripped my throat to put me right where he wanted.

The way his fingers nimbly rolled over my clit.

There’s something addictive about his way. Desire curls around me the longer I think. My body warms as memories of him fucking and praising me tumble through my mind. The throbbing need in my center is hard to ignore. I’m desperate for him to bend me over again, which means I’m in trouble.

Maybe my vibrator can help work the thoughts out of my head.

I have to stay focused. One simple act of protection isn’t enough to replace a lifetime spent with my dad.

Inhaling one last time, I rinse the conditioner from my hair and turn the water off, squeezing as much of the moisture out of my long strands as I can. I slide the glass door open, steam billowing out of the stall, and realize my mistake. There’s no towel. Frowning, I glance around. I swore there were some in here earlier.

I eye the marble floor, knowing when it’s wet, it’ll be slippery, but I don’t really have a choice. Stepping out, I dry my feet on the bathmat. The air in the bathroom is too thick and moist to dry me off. Water drips from my hair and rolls down my skin, eliciting goose bumps.

Tiptoeing over the marble tile and leaving a trail of water in my wake, I carefully make my way to the door of the en suite. I walk into the bedroom, stark naked, only to find Dare sitting on the edge of the bed with a stack of towels beside him.

My eyes narrow.Asshole.

Dare’s eyes slide over me, darkening with desire, hooding when they trace over my breasts and drift down to my pussy. He tucks his bottom lip between his teeth and adjusts himself in his gray joggers.

Good to know I’m not the only one affected.

I don’t bother trying to hide my body. I don’t pick a fight. Wasn’t I just fantasizing about him? Is it a coincidence he’s here? I was going to use my vibrator, but he’d make such a pretty toy instead.

Touch my wife again, and I’ll kill you.

That’s my good wife.

What’s the point of being married if you can’t have sex? There’s no love between us, but there is lust. It’s pointless to deny it.

I take a step toward him.

He raises his eyebrows. That bottom lip is free of his teeth, a predatory smile slipping across his face instead. I take another step. He doesn’t move. Dare watches my approach, appreciation obvious in the way his gaze keeps slipping down my body, almost like he can’t help himself. Almost like he’s memorizing the moment.

Pride settles in my chest, sparking something inherently feminine within me. This man might hate me, but he’s also hard for me, and I bet if I sat on his face, he’d gladly eat me out.

That knowing helps me cross the room until I’m standing a foot away. Water rolls from my hair, down my breasts, and drips onto the floor between us. I gaze down at him. His blond hair is a little messy. Stubble shadows the line of his jaw. The scar cutting through his eyebrow begs to be stroked.

Slowly, Dare’s eyes lift to meet mine, but not before they pause on the marks on my chin and cheek. Some of that violence from before shimmers in his irises.

My cunt clenches at the sight, and the thrill of his possessiveness rolls through me. “Take your clothes off.”

The corner of his mouth twitches in amusement, but he listens, pulling off his shirt with one hand. That movement that makes his muscles bulge is sexy in a way that shouldn’t be. Everything about him is sensual to me in ways that don’t make sense. Dare drops the shirt on the floor and reaches for his pants, lifting his hips and shoving them down, revealing his thick erection.

I swallow, not exactly surprised at how big he is, but it’s different with the lights on. I can see the vein that runs up the side. The glisten of pre-cum at his tip. The little slit at the top that begs to be licked. I’m also staring. But I don’t care.

Leaning back on the bed, Dare rests on his elbows and watches me watch him. My gaze drifts up the ripple of his abs, the hard pecs, over that perfect face, and up to his hooded, dark brown eyes.

He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t egg me on, save for the little quirk of his eyebrow. He’s waiting to see what I’ll do. Will I chicken out, or will I fuck him like a woman who knows what she wants?

Closing the distance, I place one knee on the bed and both my palms, glaring at him as droplets of water hit his smooth skin. “You took my towel.”

“I did,” he says with a wicked grin.

I crawl onto the bed. As soon as I’m straddling him, his hands find my hips, trying to tug them down, but I don’t fully settle down. “That was rude.”

“It was.”

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